Author's Note: So, I finally forced myself to watch Both Sides Now, since it came on USA today. I've always avoided it because I knew how it ended, but I decided to suffer through it for the good of Hilson and Confrontation.

"So, seen anything creepy yet," Wilson asked when House stepped into the living room. Hours had passed since the men had set up the cameras and he, personally, had not witnessed anything out of the ordinary. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean that House hadn't.

The diagnostician slowly shook his head, and fell onto the couch. "But it's early yet."

Wilson sighed, and flipped on the television. The pictures on the screen moved in front of the pair, but instead of paying attention to the program, he turned his thoughts inward. How could this whole thing be happening? He'd thought, when he had paid for the house, that this would be a chance for them to start over, and for him to do it right this time. He would show his best friend that even though he had pushed him aside before, he really did care about him. In the back of his mind, he had even thought about laying it all out on the table – that whether either of them liked it or not Wilson was in love with him.

But he couldn't tell him now. House was having a hard enough time as it was.

"Foreman called while you were in the shower," Wilson eventually said, just to fill the silence. "I reminded him that we're on vacation."

The corners of the older man's lips turned up, just a tad. "I'm sure he loved that."

"I'm pretty sure I won't be on his Christmas list. Don't worry though. The patient wasn't even close to dying yet."

"I really wasn't worried."

"Wanna play Scrabble," Wilson asked. It was a little random, sure, but he wasn't wired for just sitting around, waiting on something horrible to happen. He gestured to the box underneath the coffee table.

House laughed, but tilted his head in agreement. As the oncologist passed him the bag of letters he said, "Cuddy e-mailed me this morning."

Wilson's eyes flew to his friend, and his stomach rolled over in revulsion. He felt guilty for the resentment he still had for the woman that had been the owner of House's heart for so long. He found himself, as he always did when her name came up, regretting the recent rift in their friendship. He knew he was to blame, but somewhere along the way he had realized that they just couldn't be friends. Well, that he couldn't be friends with her. "What did she say?"

"She said it was just to tell us to enjoy our vacation." House paused to glance quickly at his friend. "But she's probably having doubts about the breakup."

"The breakup," he repeated blankly. "The breakup? Does she realize that it was-"

"Like two hundred years ago? I'm not sure. And I mean, we broke up for a reason." He smirked lightly. "Well, she broke up with me for a reason."

"That's true." He wondered if the other man heard his voice shake. "But you seemed to care about her."

"Yeah."

"What do you want to do?" God, how many times had he wanted to have this conversation with his friend? But House had always made it very clear that questions were not permissible. And now there he was, as if he'd planned it all along. 'Do you still love her?"

"Hard to answer that objectively when we have Samara floating around here," House joked. "Our lives do hang in the balance."

Wilson opened his mouth to respond when the sound of shattering glass met the men's ears. House looked to Wilson immediately, openly searching for validation from his friend. Wilson's eyebrows shot up, and he jumped to his feet. "I'm going to check it out," he whispered.

In his voice's normal volume the diagnostician replied, "I'm pretty sure Samara can hear you. It's not like we can count on her being asleep upstairs."

Wilson held up his left index finger to silence him and crept soundlessly into the dining room. One of the wine glasses he had bought during an impromptu visit to the mountains with House the year before lay in tiny pieces on the hardwood floor. The moonlight streaming into the room gave the scene an eerie glow, and it wasn't until he exhaled sharply that he realized that he had been holding his breath. His eyes darted around the room, but found no one else. The glass had been in the hutch, he was sure.

A shiver shot up his spine, and he was back with House in five long strides. "Did you take a glass out," he asked, already knowing the answer.

House shook his head slowly. "No. I told you I hate those things. As I recall, I begged you not to buy them. They're way too small."

"I'm now one short."

House's eyes unfocused and Wilson knew the other man was taking in the information, processing how ludicrous the whole thing sounded, and being forced to take it seriously anyway. How many explanations were there?

None. And they both knew it.

"At least you're not crazy."

"It's true. There is that."

"However . . ."

"Yes. However."

Wilson pondered the situation for a moment. "And you really don't know any Latin?"

"Believe me. I'm kicking myself for it now." There was a brief silence until House continued. "So, what do we do? Find some downtrodden priest to perform an exorcism on our little shop of horrors? Come on, be serious."

"And what's your solution," Wilson answered. "Let the damn thing run amuck? Well, why didn't you just say that from the beginning? I'll get some blankets and we can set up the couch as a bed for the dear!" He blinked when an unnerving thought occurred to him. "Oh, God. You don't think it's Amber, do you?"

"Seriously, Wilson. Only you could use a haunting as an excuse for narcissism."

"Then who do you think it is? Kutner?"

House glared at him in annoyance. "It's not Kutner. More likely that it's someone neither of us knows. I'd hope that my ex-employee has better things to do in his afterlife than bug me years after his death."

"So what did we decide," Wilson prompted. "Yes to the downtrodden priest?"

"I suppose. Yes to the downtrodden priest."

Author's Note: I know it may seem a little weird that House just accepted the idea of ghosts so easily, but the way I figure it is that House is special because he's always right. And, for the purposes of this story ghosts exist. Thus, House has to believe in them once he's proven to be wrong.